


Delay of Game

by icywind



Series: The Best Game You Can Name [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Curtain Fic, F/M, Fluff, Fury ships it, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:04:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icywind/pseuds/icywind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Occasionally I write tumbly-fics for the Best Game verse. Every few months or so they'll be archived here.</p><p>Updated/Archived: Chapter 8 - Hockey can be painful, Phil helps Clint feel better (in a PG way).</p><p>Chapter 9 - New Years Eve 2015 - life is pretty good for Clint & Phil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on tumblr, these won't be new. If you don't - hey, new (to you) fic!

Phil has his head buried in a file, so he doesn’t realize anything is off at first when he arrives in Fury’s office. It’s not until he sets down the pile of folders he’d been carrying that he notices the music. The open file joins the others and he’s just about to ask why Nick is listening to “In a Sentimental Mood” (he knows the man loves Coltrane, but not usually in the middle of a work day) when Nick gives him a pointed look and flicks his eye towards the couch.

The couch that has Clint Barton on it. A napping Clint Barton, to be specific. 

That raises an entirely new set of questions that Phil attempts to convey through a complicated series of facial tics and eyebrow twitches. Because, really? Barton naps in Fury's office?

Nick’s shrug that seems to say ‘it happens sometimes,’ isn’t quite enough for Phil, and he rolls his eyes and sighs. 

“He’s a good kid, Cheese. And while I know Blake was good for the organization as a whole for at least part of his time here, he wasn’t the best fit with some of the players. Perhaps I shouldn’t have encouraged it, but Barton needed an outlet. Sometimes he comes in and reads, sometimes we talk shop, and sometimes this happens.” His voice was unusually quiet, in deference to the man sleeping several feet away Phil supposed. “I’d like to think that sometime in the future, with his mind, he could have your job.” 

“It’s not your usual style,” Phil replies and Nick chuckles at that. Fury is a chess master, slightly removed from people and things as to be better be able to manipulate them the way he wants, always has been. It’s one of the things that made him an amazing GM. 

“I told you nine years ago Barton was different. Not my fault you weren’t paying full attention.”

No, Phil thinks as he turns to look at Barton’s slumbering form, he supposes it isn’t. A quiet chuckle from Nick pulls his gaze back to his old friend.

“You know, you could always get a couch of your own.”

His reply of ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ dies on his lips as voices sound in the hallway. Jasper and Melinda are on their way and suddenly the music is switched off and Fury is placing a hand on Barton’s shoulder to wake him. The younger man blinks awake slowly, a questioning noise escaping before he realizes where he is. Phil watches as he blinks sleepily at Fury, and murmurs an apology to the man, before reaching a hand up to run through his hair. It’s then that Barton notices his presence in the room and he is offered a sleepy smile in greeting. There’s a fondness to it that Phil doesn’t know how he earned.

He’s not quite certain how to react to that.

Fury is back around his desk, probably to pull up Maria on Skype, and Phil can’t help but watch Barton stretch as he stands up, making little satisfied noises as he works out whatever kinks sleeping on the couch had brought him. Jasper and Melinda arrive then and he offers them a jaunty salute and ‘coaches,’ and shuffles off. 

Phil is the last to sit down, even after Maria’s voice greets the others in the room. And as the meeting kicks off he can’t help but wonder in the back of his mind if his office really could use a new couch.


	2. Chapter 2

Phil looks up from some papers as someone clears their throat in his doorway.

“Hey Coulson,” Barton says, looking a little worse for wear. “I hate to ask, sir, do you uh…do you have a key to Fury’s office?”

“Why would you need a key to his office?” and oh, Barton looks a little - not guilty, exactly, more…uneasy perhaps, with a touch of embarrassment at that. 

“I’ve got a migraine. Simmons fixed me up with a shot, and all, but uh…I can’t…see really well right now? Just looking for a quiet spot to sleep a few hours before I can try to head out.”

Huh…Phil had been wondering why Barton’s normally sharp eyes weren’t quite meeting his.

“My vision will clear up fairly soon, but sometimes the lights can be a bit too much.”

“What about the windows in his office?”

“I’ve got a mask…” Barton glanced down. “Can you uh…” 

Just as Phil started to say –“You know I have a couch too now.”

“Yeah?” Barton squinted at the couch.

“Yeah,” Phil replies. And it wasn’t because of Nick’s comments the other week at all, it’s just nice to have somewhere if he needs a nap from being up too late looking at video.

“You sure?” Barton looks at him hopefully.

“It’s not a problem at all,” and he certainly doesn’t feel a rush of fondness swell through him at the grateful look Barton throws his way before curling up on the couch.

Half an hour later and Phil found himself startled from his musings (and feeling guilty – was he really watching Barton sleep?) by a text alert.

_How you liking that new couch?_

How did Nick even know? 

_Could use a little color. Get a throw from the shop or something. He gets cold sometimes._

_This isn’t going to become a habit._

_Sure it isn’t._

_I have no idea what you’re talking about._

_Sure you don’t._

He isn’t going to dignify Nick with a response to that, because he really isn’t going to get into the habit of having the members of his team nap in his office. They had perfectly good couches in the lounge and the private rooms as well. Just because Barton is a little too unnerved by how quiet the rooms are, needs the small noises of people around him to sleep best, doesn’t mean he’ll be napping in Phil’s office all that often. And if Phil carefully avoids thinking about how he knows Barton’s sleeping habits, well, Nick can’t read his mind to call him out on it. 

_The chenille one is the best._

_Don’t you have some work to do? Isn’t that why you’re out of your office?_

_If not the team colors, purple is a good choice._

_Please stop._

_I’ll have Jasper grab one for you._

With a scowl, Phil turns his phone off, glances up to make sure Barton is still resting, then returns to his game prep for tomorrow. Decidedly not thinking that purple actually would complement the deep blue upholstery.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint’s got one towel slung around his hips and is vigorously rubbing another over his hair when a whistle sounds behind him. He only pays it half-attention, years of being a teammate of Tony Stark whose sense of humor was all over the place, had him always half expecting some sort of teasing from one teammate or another. It’s the decidedly feminine voice letting out a low “damn,” that has him turning around.

She’s youngish, younger than him he’s pretty sure anyway, with long dark hair and eyes set in a pretty and expressive face. There’s an impish set to her lips and her dark eyes are literally sparkling with mischief (so clichéd to think but no less true) as she looks him up and down.

He cinches the towel a little more tightly around his waist.

“The pictures really don’t do you justice. Just…wow.”

Clint can feel the tips of his ears pink as he drops the towel he’d been using on his hair. He wasn’t ashamed, he worked hard for his body, but it was always a little surreal when someone overtly appreciated him like that.

“Can I help you?”

“Right, yeah, sure, wow – sorry.” She held up a card for him that he had to shuffle forwards a bit to see. “My name’s Skye, I’m here to see HCPC, got a little turned around…”

“HCPC?”

“Please stop referring to me as that, you know I don’t care for it,” Coulson says, his eyes finding Skye immediately as he rounds the corner.

Clint’s blush comes rushing back full force as Coulson glances at him. He looks down and away and feels like a moron for it because Coulson’s seen him nearly naked before in the locker room lots of times. Maybe it’s because of the outside audience? 

“Got a little turned around huh?” Coulson then says to Skye, who gives the biggest most innocent eyes in reply when Clint finally raises his eyes back to the two of them. 

“My hand to God I didn’t expect the half-naked player. I’m not objecting to the half-naked player, mind you – those arms and the abs and...” Coulson raises his eyebrow at her. “Right, sorry, I didn’t set out to see him, I swear.”

“It is a little easy to get lost at first,” Clint offers, causing Coulson to give him a wry smile as Skye offers a rather heart felt ‘thank you.’

Yup. His ears are going to be pink for quite some time.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” And Coulson gives her a fondly exasperated look at that that Clint isn’t entirely sure what to make of.

“Skye, this is Clint Barton, Clint this is Skye.”

“His kinda-sorta adopted daughter and occasional assistant,” she finishes with a pointed look at Coulson as she reaches out to take Clint’s hand.

That explains the look then. There’s more to that story, Clint had only heard the vaguest of rumors (Coulson kept his personal life very tightly under wraps), and he wonders briefly if Skye will stick around to share more of it since he can’t quite imagine Coulson wanted to share that part of his life with Clint. 

“Always a pleasure to meet a fellow member of the adoptees club,” he tells her with a small smile. 

“Especially when were both in the ‘yay we got one of the good ones’ division,” she replies after a shared moment of eye contact. Unlike Coulson, Clint’s story has been out in the press. He’s unsurprised Skye knows that much about him. 

“Alright,” Coulson starts before either of them can make any further attempt at conversation, “how about we let Barton get dressed and maybe work at memorizing out way to my office?”

“It was nice meeting you Clint!” Skye calls cheerfully over her shoulder as Coulson leads her off.

“You too,” he calls back, completely missing the furious whispers Skye starts in at Coulson before they’re even fully around the corner. And Coulson’s gruff agreement that ‘yes, his arms are really very impressive.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline note: This tumbly-fic happens to take place during the 2014-2015 season, the others take place during the 2013-2014 season. As AOS acquired Mack during its off-season, so the Avengers hockey team acquired him during their off-season.

The plane gave another lurch and Fitz had to bite his lip to keep from making any noise. Casting a nervous glance around he clutched his stuffed monkey a little tighter. He wished Simmons was there. Or that Ward was still on the team. It wasn’t that he hated flying, he quite enjoyed it really, it was just that he hated turbulence. 

It was late and most of the guys were sleeping or reading or watching movies quietly. No one seemed to notice his nerves. Simmons would have. Why couldn’t she have come along on this road trip? Clint was usually good too, but Fitz could see him burritoed in his purple blanket, curled in a ball in a seat across the aisle from couch Coulson (who kept glancing over every time there was a jolt, like he was making sure Barton wasn’t jostled from his seat). Clint had been the one to suggest Fitz get a security item of some fashion, reminded him that it was totally okay and not at all childish to have it. Fitz also knew that Clint had been the one to suggest to Trip that Fitz would like a monkey. That it would smooth over the transition with Trip coming over in the trade for Ward at the deadline (it had worked, Fitz wasn’t above bribery sometimes and he truly liked Trip once he got over his hurt feelings.) Sadly, Trip was currently deep in conversation with Steve about who knew what, both oblivious to the goings on around them.

Fitz squeezed his eyes shut as the next wave bounced the plane around, it was because of this that he missed someone coming towards him, only opening his eyes when he felt a large warm bulk settle next to him. 

“Hey Turbo,” Mack rumbled.

“Hey,” Fitz replied, trying and failing at not looking at his seat partner’s arms, encased as they were by a nice soft looking sweater. Seriously, the entire team was composed of walking works of art, he could admit that, but he always felt a little strange when he couldn’t help but look. 

Sometimes he thought it was the basis of his friendship with Skye.

“It’s weird, but, sometimes I miss being in the A – or even in Juniors. Tooling around in those big ‘ol ridiculous buses. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love it here in the big show, but, I liked the camaraderie you had on the bus. Really throws people together, you know?”

“We usually take a bus into the Garden, Coulson says it’s good to show a united front even though most of us can get there by other means more easily,” Fitz offered. He hadn’t worked in any of the other leagues, he didn’t have that frame of reference. “And sometimes we take the train down to DC – it’s nice.” The smile Mack offers him in reply makes his ears heat and he looks away for a moment. Attractive people smiling at him has that affect sometimes. He’s just about worked up his courage to say something else when another jolt rocks the plane. His eyes snap open a moment later (he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them) when Mack puts a hand on his arm.

“Hey, it’s okay you know,” he says, sliding his hand down Fitz’s arm to cover his tightly clenched fist. “I played three years with a couple of Swedes who hated flying. If you need me, I can be here for you. Okay?”

Fitz takes in a deep breath, searches his face for a moment, and then shifts in his seat to press against Mack’s warm inviting side. The sweater is every bit as soft as he had thought it would be. He eases his fist open and is rewarded by Mack lacing their fingers together.

“It’s not that I hate flying, I really do enjoy it, I just don’t like the turbulence.” He doesn’t want to get into how he completely understands the mechanics of flying (sometimes that’s a good thing and sometimes that’s a bad thing) because he’d learned that most of the time his blabbering about science bores other to death. 

He really doesn’t want to bore Mack into walking away.

“It’s stupid, really.”

“Nah man, not at all. Judgment free zone here, Turbo.”

“Why do you call me that anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Mack says, dark eyes searching Fitz’s face. “It seems to suit you though.” His slow smile stirs something inside Fitz, but he manages to fight his nerves and reply in kind. He almost doesn’t notice the next jolt of the plane (one that’s hard enough to see Coulson put a steadying hand out to make sure Clint is secure in his seat). And he certainly doesn’t notice Trip glancing back at them and nodding in satisfaction as they fall into an easy banter of team gossip.


	5. Chapter 5

It happened so damn quickly.

One minute he was going for the puck in the corner. The next, he was slamming awkwardly into the boards. Clint was loathe to admit it, but, he lost a moment there, because next thing he knew he was on the ice and Steve was looming above him, speaking low and dangerous (as he did only when he was truly pissed off) to the opposing player he currently had in a wicked headlock.

“You like cheap shots huh? Huh?” Steve tightened his arm just a little around Rumlow's neck. “How about you ‘n me have it out like real men? I promise I’ll even let you get in the first shot before I take you down like the piece of shit you are.”

Thor was somewhere behind him, his voice booming out: “I caused no harm to your teammate; I merely relocated him away from mine. It is not my fault he did not react well to being moved by the scruff of his neck like the tiny kitten he is.”

He could hear Rhodey from somewhere on the ice, probably trying to be the voice of reason with one of the Refs and/or linesmen. Another blink of his eyes and Sam was suddenly kneeling next to him.

“C’mon Barton, Clint – you okay man? How you feeling?”

“M’fine, s’good, it’s all good,” he managed. His head wasn’t spinning at least. Ears weren’t ringing. Nothing felt stiff.

Sam replied with his ‘pull the other one,’ look and then said to Natasha “he says he’s fine.”

“Of course he did,” she said as she knelt carefully next to him. “He always does.”

“Not true – I didn’t say that after Loki.” To be fair, he couldn’t entirely remember everything that happened after that particular hit (the immediate aftermath was completely gone and he still, even years later, had gaps here and there from his recovery period) but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have lied about that.

And he wasn’t lying now.

Nat pursed her lips.

“Really. I feel okay, the hit shook me up a bit, but I’m good.”

“You know the drill, Clint,” was all she said as she and Sam then proceeded to help him to his feet. They made their way slowly over towards the bench, his teammates (somehow none of which had managed a penalty defending his honor) calling out encouragement as they made their own ways back for a line change. Bruce opened the bench door for him, offering a nod as he made his way past. And then Clint pulled up short when a hand landed gently on his arm.

“There’s absolutely no rush to get back, Barton. You’re too important to risk, especially this close to the playoffs. Take your time, listen to the doctor, and make sure you’re okay,” Coulson told him.

“Oh, you know me, coach. I’ve got a hard head, not easy to damage.”

“Humor me, Barton. Remember – too important,” Coulson finished with a smile, squeezing Clint’s arm briefly before stepping away to bark at the refs, who were letting him know that if Tony opened his mouth one more time he’d be getting an unsportsmanlike. Clint felt an entirely wrong for the situation (Coulson was only showing him the concern he’d give to any player) soppy smile overtake his features as Nat led him down the hallway towards the quiet room and the ministrations of Jemma and Doctor Strange.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

The video gets an insane amount of hits during the first twenty-four hours. Gifs from it are all over tumblr within an hour of it being posted and Darcy, very humbly, declares herself a genius.

“Hey gang, it’s Darcy. So…the team is a little bit snowed in up in the Peg. It is, of course, not long enough to warrant a hotel stay, but not short enough to be anything but supremely annoying.” Darcy made a face at the camera as she finished the sentence. Then, the view flipped around to face away from her. “Let’s see how the guys are faring.”

Darcy began walking slowly, panning the camera around at the team and support staff scattered around. She paused on the image of Fitz and Mack. The latter had one knee bent up, a hand holding a book resting on it and creating a cradle for the former to curl up in his lap, his head resting on Mack’s chest. Mack’s free arm was loosely curled around Fitz as he dozed as if to keep him from shifting. Mack looked up from his book and gave a smile and a nod to Darcy and the camera.

“Fitz always takes care of the equipment for the boys; it’s nice to see someone taking care of him. And Mack looks like he makes a fantastic pillow.” Mack winked at that, almost too quick for the camera to catch and Darcy moved on.

The coaching staff was arrayed over a cluster of chairs. Jasper was munching on some cookies (“wonderful little kiosk – amazing cookies that are almost worth the trip!”). Coulson was sitting next to him, wearing glasses and reading a paperback novel. Bobbi and Melinda were sitting together, heads bent over an iPad, reviewing video and making notes.

“Watcha reading, coach?” Coulson obligingly held the book up for inspection. “Elmore Leonard, huh?”

“Raylan Givens is a fascinating character. I’m just re-visiting his book world before his tv world finishes up.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, and I’m totally buying you a hat on the trip to Calgary,” she replied, just barely catching the sour face Coulson tossed over the top of the book before she moved onwards to Steve who had his drawing pad out.

“Anything you’re comfortable sharing with us Captain?

“Well, sure, I guess,” Steve replied, looking a little shy as he sometimes could be with his art. He flipped the pad around to show what he was currently working on – sketches of his teammates slumped and propped against the wall in various states of slumber. Flipping a page backwards there was a sketch of Clint and Coulson leaning close together and talking. Another was of Sam and Bucky with their heads thrown back in laughter. Another page held Tony’s mask. Thor in mid shot. Rhodey and Bruce discussing something on the ice. Another had Trip, smiling and laughing and looking like he was dancing. Clint and Natasha bending their bodies into difficult yoga poses. May with a stealthy smile. “It’s been a good trip” he murmured, flipping the book back to the current sketch. “Well,” he began, lips turning into a wry twist as the camera panned back up, “Good but for this delay, anyway.”

“Says the man with four points in the three games,” Bucky drawled from two seats over.

“Five,” Sam corrected from Bucky’s other side. “Five in three games. They took the assist on Barton’s goal tonight from Luke and gave it to Steve, remember?”

“Right, I remember now,” Bucky grumped, burrowing into his jacket.

“Buck’s not taking his slump well,” Steve said to the camera.

“He’ll break out of it next game. He loves playing the ‘Canes,” Sam said.

“Damn straight,” Bucky said before Darcy moved away.

Tony and Rhodey had commandeered a small table from who knows where and had pulled Hank and Scott into a game of poker, with Jarvis serving as the dealer. Not far away, Bruce was seated against the wall, with Clint pillowed partly in his lap. Natasha was, in turn, snugged up against Clint, her legs stretched along Bruce’s.

“If Clint has a special power, it’s the ability to nap,” Bruce said with a grin. “Betty and I found him half in a laundry basket one time.”

“They were warm and smelled good and I probably shouldn’t have been doing laundry when I was that tired in the first place,” Clint mumbled, his eyes remaining shut.

“When he was sixteen he fell asleep under our porch,” Natasha added.

“Dark and cool in the middle of summer, so not my fault.”

“Why was he under the porch?”

“He was trying to startle his brother, only, Barney made an extra stop on the way home and Captain Narcolepsy nodded off.”

“Stop picking on me Nat, sheesh,” Clint grumbled, twisting his face into the pillow on Bruce. Natasha chuckled and Bruce patted his shoulder in comfort as Darcy moved away with a line about letting him get his beauty sleep.

Darcy eventually stopped at a window where you could make out the snow swirling around the pinpoints of light in the inky blackness of the night.

“All right game – that’s about it from Winterpeg. Hopefully we’ll get off the ground and back to New York soon. Remember that we’ll have another installment of the podcast series ‘A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Cup,’ this Wednesday and a new episode of ‘Avengers Assemble’ will stream online Saturday and onto your television screens Sunday. As always, follow us on twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, YouTube, and tumblr for access to more random shenanigans and, I guess, occasionally some useful info. Night all!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Coulson is reading is Pronto by Elmore Leonard. Which, I think, was the first appearance of the character Raylan Givens (of Justified). I, personally, haven't read the novels yet, but I love the series and am sad to see it go. I think Coulson would appreciate Leonard's work. 
> 
> This drabble was inspired by a pic of, I forget which team now, slumped together against the wall while they waited for their plane to be sorted out. 
> 
> ps: I use the nickname Winterpeg with fondess. :)


	7. Chapter 7

Phil really hated Philadelphia. It seemed to be surrounded by a bubble of Murphy’s Law that applied directly to Phil Coulson. This go around it was the wifi in his hotel room. And a cell signal only strong enough for texts (he could probably run downstairs and back in the time it would take to download a single file with his data). It was trivial really, and had Bruce not been sick and unable to back Tony up, he honestly wouldn’t have cared. But, he needed to download game videos Maria was sending him. Thompson likely wouldn’t have to play tonight, but Phil wanted to get a good look at how he’d been playing lately, just in case.

Sadly, that meant standing in the hallway outside of his room – where for some unknown reason he actually could pick up the hotel’s wifi. As ridiculous as he felt standing out there, it beat running down to the lobby when he’d only be heading straight back upstairs a few minutes later (he needed quiet to prepare for the game and he wouldn’t find that outside of his room.) 

He just hoped no one would walk past him so he had to explain the ridiculous situation. Of course no more than thirty seconds had elapsed from that thought to when Barton came strolling around a corner.

“Shouldn’t you be napping?” Phil asked, glancing down at his iPad and back at Barton. Almost every member of the team took some sort of pre-game nap – Barton should’ve been slumbering peacefully in his room, not shuffling around in sweats and an old t-shirt.

“Oh, I’d love to – only Bruce is coughing like an extra in The Stand, not to mention fretting about how he doesn’t want me to catch whatever he has. We didn’t get a suite because this hotel didn’t have any available so it’s just the two beds and a chair. I decided I’d just head over to Bobbi’s room before Bruce tried to quarantine himself in the tub or something,” Barton explained with a rueful grin.

“Bobbi?”

“Yeah, even if she ends up taking a pre-game nap herself, we’re pretty good about sharing a bed.”

“Why don’t you just use mine?” the question falls out of his mouth before he even has a second to think about it. 

“I dunno, coach…” Barton shifts in place, one hand idly playing with the hem of his t-shirt. It takes him a moment to meet Phil’s gaze and he isn’t sure if it’s just the play of the lights or if he’s actually seeing a hint of pink along Barton’s ears.

“Trust me, I won’t be using it. I’ve got a good amount of space and I’ll be hunched over the desk in the corner once I get these files downloaded.” He waved his iPad casually, hoping to convey that he wasn’t in the hall to creep on any of his players. 

“Shitty wifi, huh?” and Phil nodded at him. “Well…if you’re sure…” Barton had slipped off one sandal and his toes are idly itching at the opposite ankle. 

Phil wondered if it was a nervous habit. He doesn’t wonder why he’s thinking about how delicate Barton’s exposed ankle looks.

“Yeah, sure. I’m completely okay with it if you are.”

Barton tilts his head back and forth a moment before nodding. “Okay, why not.”

“Great,” Phil replies. And then they stand there for a moment just looking at each other before Barton smiles a little sheepishly and Phil nearly smacks himself on the head because, yes, he has to unlock the door. “Make yourself comfortable – I’ll wake you in an hour?”

“Yeah, sounds good. And thanks…” Barton smiles softly, then turns and disappears further into the room as the door swings back shut.

Phil spends an extra five minutes loitering in the hallway outside his room and even heads over to the vending machine for an overpriced soda he probably won’t drink all in the hopes that Barton will be fast asleep when he returns. 

He is, or at least he appears to be in the very brief glance Phil gives the bed as he skirts around it to reach the desk. The shades have been drawn, but the light on the desk itself has been turned on. A note in Barton’s looping script proclaiming ‘Don’t strain your eyes too much – I’ll be fine with this on’ propped up next to it. Phil’s lips twitch a bit in response and he settles in to watch the videos.

Or, not watch the videos, as it turned out. Because every time he thinks he’s settled in and ready his attention keeps straying back towards the bed. Barton had taken his shirt off before climbing in and only half-heartedly covered himself with a sheet, leaving the long line of his back exposed. Even when he wasn’t in motion it was captivating. The sweep of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the barest hint of two dimples peeking out of the hem of his sweats. Phil was transfixed. 

And perhaps a little turned on.

The realization had him moving to the bathroom, phone in hand. 

_I’ve turned into Edward._

_??_

_Context plz and hello to you too Dad_

_I’ve turned into Edward – that reference is on you btw_

Phil prided himself on being a good father, which had meant reading a certain vampire series with his daughter. At least they could laugh about it now.

_Okay…??_

_I’m watching Barton sleep_

_What did you do?!_

_Plz tell me you didn’t break into his room._

_I didn’t. He’s in mine._

_!?!_

_Pre-game nap. Long story. Nothing untowards._

_But you’re watching him sleep and that freaked you out_

_Yes_

_You’ve got it bad Dad_

Phil sighed and resisted hitting his head against the wall, albeit barely. This was going to be a problem. This was going to be a very big problem. He was not supposed to be attracted to one of his players. It was a cliché and so very wrong.

_Pics or it didn’t happen_

Skye’s newest text had him rolling his eyes – and also thanking the universe for her existence because the ridiculous quip snapped him out of a freak-out spiral before it could really get going.

_He’s hot Dad, ngl. No harm in appreciating that._

_gtg – lunch w/Jemma. You gonna be ok?_

_Yeah, think so_

_Remember - chill and enjoy the view. Love you!_

_Love you too_

With a sigh he exited the bathroom. Skye was right. He found Barton attractive – that wasn’t such a big deal. He was an attractive man and anyone that swung that way would probably agree with him and nod in appreciation. Besides, it wasn’t as if Barton found him attractive. 

It wasn’t as if either of them would act on it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set about a month or so after the end scene of Shots (so still within the 2014/2015 season).

 

 

He’d only been there a handful of times but Phil thought he knew his way around Clint’s place fairly well. It was late when he’d driven him home after the game but Lucky had greeted them both at the door with tail wagging excitement and waited patiently while Phil helped Clint settle in on the couch with ice packs and heat pads and then taken him out for a walk. Afterwards Lucky retreated to his bed in the corner (his pouting bed, Clint called it, because he only slept in it when Clint was packing for a road trip -or now when Phil was over and he couldn’t share the bed), and Phil ducked into the kitchen to wash his hands and grab some water for Clint. He paused at the side of the couch, just looking at Clint until he glanced up and smiled at him.

“Yup, one sexy looking thing, aren’t I?” Clint quipped, propped up against the side of the couch with a few pillows and a heating pad. He was wearing an old very faded Avengers tee, that stretched over his pecks even despite how loose it was in the neck and other areas. One leg of his sweatpants was pushed high onto his thigh to accommodate an ice pack, while the other flopped over his ankle, where some physio tape was still wrapped around it. There was the faint scent of menthol and mint in the air from the cooling patch that had been applied to his shoulder. Despite the faint lines of discomfort on his face he appeared relaxed and easy.

Phil still found him undeniably attractive and savored in the low level simmer of heat in his stomach that he constantly felt when their roles as coach and player fell away and he allowed himself to bask in the complex mixture of emotions the amazing man before him evoked within him.

“Yes, Yes, you are,” he answered honestly, leaning down for a brief kiss and enjoying the pleased look that flashed over Clint’s face before handing over the water. He checked his watch and did a little mental math before removing the ice pack and setting it aside. The muscle underneath was slightly pink around the edges of the blue and purple bruise. It looked like it was done forming fully then. That was good. He couldn’t help but run a hand over the exposed flesh, cool to the touch from the ice-pack. If they weren’t both so tired. If there was maybe a bruise or two fewer he’d be hard pressed not to run his hand along Clint’s inner thigh with more intent. Follow it with his lips and slide those sweatpants off a little, take his hardening cock in hand and mouth and make Clint cry out sweetly as he forgot all about the battering his body had taken that game and could focus only on how good Phil could make him feel. Anyone who said a man in his 40’s lost more of his sex drive as time passed didn’t have the temptation of a willing Clint Barton available to them. Phil wasn’t sure he’d thought about sex this much in over a decade.

But, they were tired - overly tired, really - after the game and Phil still had responsibilities. So, he eased the fabric back down Clint’s leg before leaning up to press another kiss to his lips. The relationship that they were both working so hard to build was about more than just sex – and there were other ways to make Clint feel good. Phil carefully picked up Clint’s feet by his ankles, settled himself against the opposite arm of the couch, and then lowered his feet into his lap.

“What are you –oh,” Clint’s eyes widened in surprise as Phil began to carefully massage one foot. Clint’s eyes caught and held his and Phil watched with interest as several different emotions flashed over his face. “I’ve never really had a foot massa - oh shit, that felt good.”

“It’s supposed to,” Phil replied with a smile as he continued his ministrations, finding delight in every tiny contented noise Clint made as time passed. Clint’s eyes were a little droopy by the time he switched feet, and he paused a moment to catch his attention again. “Do you want me to remove the physio tape?”

“Hmm?” Clint blinked a little. “Yeah, sure, wuz too lazy to do it m’self before,” his words trailed off into a yawn and he settled back against the cushion more snugly.

After removing the bright purple tape Phil carefully massaged Clint’s right foot, mindful of the bruise developing on it from the shot he blocked in the second. The next time he glanced up at Clint’s face he found his eyes shut and he set down his foot with deliberate movements. Clint’s eyes blinked back open however and he offered Phil such a beautiful sleepy smile that he forgot how to breathe for a second.

“C’mon, let’s head to bed,” he said once he’d recovered, voice slightly hoarse. Clint nodded and rose along with him, nuzzling his neck more than kissing it as they made their way to the stairs and his lofted bedroom.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set New Years Eve 2015.

 

 

It was pretty dang cruel that even though Clint finally had the man he wanted to kiss at midnight, he still wouldn’t be able to. Not the way he wanted to, anyway. Not when they were on the road in Buffalo. Their agreement was there would be no relationship stuff while they were working – and on the road they were pretty much always working. Most of the time it was fine, but sometimes…sometimes Clint wanted more than it was probably healthy for him to.

The team had ensured that they would have their customary New Year’s Party at the hotel and Clint was enjoying himself for the most part, he really was. He’d danced with easily half the people in attendance, even Phil – though again, not the way he’d wanted to.

Had the party been back at Stark’s they’d have been fine. The employees, down to the catering staff, were loyal to Pepper and Tony (and by extension to their friends). Even at his most cautious Phil wouldn’t have minded a slow dance or two, holding hands and sharing kisses in the safe-haven their organizational family would create. But on the road, there was no telling who might say what if they looked at each other the wrong way. Let a touch linger a bit too long.

Phil would try to make it up to him when they got home on the third – or more likely the following day thanks to the game that night. If he was really feeling guilty there was a chance he might let Clint engage him in some light making out and then serious cuddling on the team plane after their game on the second.

And so Clint smiled and tried to enjoy himself the best he could.

“Hey Clint, could you do me a favor?” Bruce said, slipping in next to him at around twenty to twelve. “I forgot my glasses back in the room and my eyes are giving me fits. Could you run and get them for me, maybe?”

“Yeah. No prob man, be right back,” he easily slipped from the room, glad for the short reprieve. A trip on the elevator and walk down the hall later and he was carefully letting himself into their suite. Now – where did Bruce leave his glasses? As good a tendy as he was, he had his absent-minded professor moments. He’d just finished a cursory sweep of the main room and was heading towards the bedroom when a quite knock sounded at the door they shared with the adjoining room. It was slightly ajar, which Clint didn’t recall it being when he left, and it swung open slowly to reveal Phil.

“I um…I talked Jasper into letting me take this room instead of him,” Phil said, smiling a little sheepishly at him. He slowly entered the room with both hands behind his back. “And I convinced Bruce and a few of the others into helping me set this up.” He pulled his arms from behind his back, one hand holding two champagne glasses and the other a bottle of sparkling grape juice which he set carefully on the table. “Happy New Year, Clint.”

Clint had to swallow past a lump in his throat as he stepped closer to Phil, their hands unerringly finding each other as they stood closer together than they’d been able to for days. “I don’t…”

“Was it a good Big Romantic Gesture?”

“ **Very** good,” he replied, leaning in to brush their noses together. Their lips were a breath apart when Phil’s phone chimed from his pocket. He cursed in annoyance and Clint laughed, letting go of Phil’s hands so he could run his up Phil’s back in a loose hug while he nuzzled against the spot where his neck and shoulder met. Phil huffed a laugh and Clint raised his head again and made a questioning noise.

_Don’t forget the tunes!_

The text from Trip read and Phil muttered a “Ah, right,” and Clint reluctantly let him go to switch on the player next to the tv. Now that he got a better look, that was Trip’s MP3 player in the dock. Something slow and a little jazzy came on and Phil held out his hands. “May I have this dance?”

“You can have them all,” Clint replied, allowing himself to be pulled in against Phil, not caring at all how sappy he sounded. This was what he had wanted all night and he reveled in how good it felt to just sway along to the music, breathing in Phil’s scent, being held in his arms. It was the best way to end the year. They stayed that way, swaying gently and just enjoying the closeness until the sound of fireworks outside signaled the turn of the clock into the new year. Phil pulled back a little and Clint followed suit.

“So there are two traditions here, but one of them is going to be hard to do with no one else around.”

“I’d rather go with the one that says I get to kiss you the rest of the year, if it’s all the same,” Clint replied and Phil swiftly pressed their lips together for a lingering kiss.

 

> _Originally I was going to end it there - and then I thought - nah, lets get some silly puns in._

 

“I know we don’t do this on the road,” and Clint had to pause to press another kiss to Phil’s lips because they were there and he could, “But if we did, you’d be scoring tonight.” They laughed through their next kiss.

“Two minutes for unsportsmanlike puns,” Phil muttered after the one following that and Clint laughed before being stopped short by Phil’s thumb drifting across his bottom lip as he leaned in again for another kiss. “But I think maybe I will go for the hat trick tonight.”

“Really?” Clint was pretty sure his smile was brighter than the fireworks had been.

“I already put the ‘do not disturb’ sign up on my door,” Phil replied. “Just this once, it’ll be good to break the rules.”

Clint leaned in to kiss him again, then grabbed a pen and paper to scribble a note for Bruce to not wait up for him, stashed it on the table in plain sight, and let Phil lead him into his hotel room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not one that usually puts authors notes in the middle of stories. However, as this is a tumbly-fic I felt I would preserve that note.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to see these silly things more regularly? Or what passes for regularly for me, anyway? Or be inundated at random intervals with pics of Renner and hockey players?
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [redsector-a](http://redsector-a.tumblr.com/).


End file.
